Infinite [h.s.]

9. you flower, you feast

🎵Woman — Harry Styles

I immediately rise from the couch I've been sitting at in this private section, heading towards the winding staircase that leads to the lower level of the club.

I know I shouldn't; I have no right to follow her, but I just can't help it. I need to speak with her.

My eyes are trained on her figure, pushing past the mass of bodies as she hurriedly squeezes between them. I make it past the security and onto the dancefloor, mumbling, "excuse me" as I push past them. The music is pounding deep in my eardrums, and I take in a deep breath when I finally arrive at the bar, away from the huge crowd of people.

My eyes scan across the counter — gotcha.

Aurelia's seated in the very corner, a dark and less dense area; the perfect spot away from prying eyes or cameras. Almost as if she knew I'd follow her down here. She places her lips to the edge of her glass, taking a sip of her drink. Her lipstick leaves a stain of bright red along the rim.

I walk over to her, trying to ignore the quick rate of my heart, and pull out a stool beside her. She freezes, her knuckles white as she grips her glass, but she doesn't turn in my direction.

The bartender looks over to me, and I say with a warm smile, "Whiskey, neat. Thanks."

With the sound of my voice, Aurelia slowly turns to face me, and I can't help but smirk at her.

A facade for how I'm actually feeling; a horrible trait to have, but I refuse to let her see just how much it's affected me — just how jealous I actually am.

When I have no right to be, really. I was the one whose been the asshole these past two weeks, I was the one who cowardly ran away.

I don't want my jealousy and my feelings to be the ammunition that anyone could use to hurt me, as others have done in the past.

My drink arrives and I thank the bartender, taking a long sip to fuel my drunken stupor before I turn my attention back to her.

Ella looks even more stunning up close, though I expected that. Her curled hair is swept behind her shoulders, and I catch the way her red lips part as her eyes rake across me. Perhaps I'm long past drunk and have walked into dangerous territory, even for me, but I can't seem the curb my thoughts — what I would give to have those lips again.

In the same way as the night we kissed, and in completely different ways.

She eyes the tattooed butterfly along my ribs, and I can't help but tease, "Eyes up here, Aurelia."

Her eyes seem to flutter the moment her name leaves my lips. She looks down at the bar top, but I suddenly have the urge to reach out, placing a finger underneath her chin. I tilt her head up towards me, and even under the purple strobe lights of the club, I swear I can see her cheeks redden.

Aurelia, however, quickly composes herself as she pulls back from my touch, leaving my hand in the air. I pull it back to myself. I don't blame her.

"What are you doing here?" She blurts out, confusion and another emotion that I can't quite detect on her features. It's strange; for a woman who already has me reeled like a fish out of water, for a woman who already seems to get me, sometimes I just can't seem to read her.

"It's Fate bringing us together, remember?" I reply, scooting my stool a bit closer to hers. Our knees barely touch, but that's enough to ease the ache of desire that's coursing through me.

She's so fucking beautiful.

And I'm so fucking drunk and the biggest dickhead to walk the Earth.